by Mary Fan
“To practice spins.” Milo lies on his stomach, raises his right leg behind him, and grabs the end of the foot stretcher. “Put the curved side on the floor, stand on top, and… spin.”
Curious, I place the wooden crescent on the ground. “So, what’s new with you?”
“One moment.” Milo sounds strained; the stretches must finally be getting to him.
I eye the wooden crescent on the floor, then kick off my shoes and put my right foot on it. The device rocks under my weight. I push against the floor with my left foot and twirl.
“Whoa!” My head rushes. Teetering, I put my foot on the ground to stop myself and stumble to a halt.
“Not bad.” Milo lets go of the foot stretcher and sits up with a grin. “Next step: toe shoes.”
I grimace. Milo’s been trying to make me walk en pointe since I was eleven. It’s his idea of revenge for the time I dared him to play my viola, then laughed at him for the screeching noises made by his attempts. “Never.”
“You say that now, but just wait.” His eyes twinkle. “I’ll get you into ballet slippers one of these days.” He winces as he pushes back the elastic covering his foot. “Floor burn.”
He removes his foot from the device, and I, too, wince at the sight of several raw, red sores. “That looks awful.”
“It was worth it.” Milo stands, his gray eyes bright with happiness. “I did it. I’m replacing Nikolai as Sabina’s partner.”
“Milo, that’s… that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across my face.
“Thanks.” Milo rubs the back of his neck. “I still can’t believe it. I keep expecting Mistress Duval to show up and tell me this was a huge joke.”
“I told you this would happen!” I can scarcely keep from jumping up and down. “You’re the best in the Ballet.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t exactly surpass Nikolai.” Milo twists his mouth into a grimace. “After Mistress Duval called him out, he cleaned up his act, and he’s actually been promoted. He’ll be doing two featured solos and several duets with Valeria Volkova, who’s currently ranked number one in all of Papilio.”
“Well, you’re still a principal now.” I give him a playful smirk. “And you finally get your shot with Sabina!”
Milo gazes past me with a faraway look. “Yeah, I guess I do. Although now that she’s so close… I don’t want to screw things up.”
“If she’s got an ounce of sense in her, she’ll realize how wonderful you are.”
A ding emits from the monitor behind him, and words appear across the screen: “All Artists ages thirteen and up, please gather in the Grand Hall for an announcement.”
Milo regards the message. “I wonder what it is.”
I run through the list of things it could possibly be, then gasp in delight. Every winter and spring, Papilio throws a ball for the students, and the next one’s just around the corner. “I’ll bet they’re announcing the theme for the Semiannual Ball.”
“Great,” Milo deadpans.
“Oh, stop. You know you want to hear it, too. Come on, let’s go!” I slip on my shoes and rush out the door.
Milo groans as he follows. We exit his dorm building and cross the quad along with a number of other Papilians, most of whom chatter excitedly about what they think the announcement’s about. From the animated twitters of the girls, everyone else has also realized that it’s time for the next Ball.
We enter the Grand Hall. The white double staircases sweeping down into the main floor are already almost full of people. Milo and I grab seats on the bottom step, squeezing in next to a line of Orchestra members. The banister presses painfully into my shoulder, but I barely notice.
Even though I’m a perennial wallflower, I adore the balls. I loved them even when I was underage, performing instead of participating. The fashions, the décor, the dreams they create—the perfect combination of splendor and fantasy. It’s enough to dress up like a princess and watch the others find their Prince Charmings while I dream about the day mine will come for me. Just being a part of the beauty makes my heart soar.
The Grand Hall finally fills, and an enormous holographic screen appears in the space above the double doors. But instead of displaying the usual school official, it features a face that makes the entire room gasp.
“Hello, Papilians!” Inna Havener spreads her crimson lips into a dazzling smile. She has a lush, resonant voice. Shimmering makeup accents her dark, regal face, and with the silver headdress wrapped around her magnificent crown of black hair, she looks every bit as majestic as the queens and goddesses she’s so famous for portraying. “Greetings from Adrye! It’s so good to see the old school again!”
The hall erupts in cheers, and I happily join in. I can’t believe the famous Inna Havener’s actually speaking to us, or that Papilio arranged for her to send this message across the universe.
Inna waits for the din to die down. “The administration thought it would be a nice surprise if I announced the theme of the upcoming Semiannual Ball. So when they approached me, I couldn’t say no. Before I do, I want you to know that I believe in each and every one of you. You all possess extraordinary talent, and if I could succeed, then so can you.”
Another round of cheering erupts. I clap, but my excitement dims. Most of us won’t be her. Most of us won’t be anyone. I glance at Milo, wondering if his words are echoing through his head too. But the cynical Milo from two weeks ago is gone, and the bright-eyed boy I grew up with is back. His smile is every bit as wide as Inna’s. Being promoted to principal seems to have renewed his hope, and I’m so glad.
“Thank you!” Inna waves. “Oh, I really am honored to see all of you. You’re the future of the Arts—don’t ever forget that. And now, for the announcement. On behalf of the Papilio School, I am pleased to announce the twenty-two-sixty-eight Semiannual Ball, which will be held on December nineteenth at eight p.m. right here in the Grand Hall. The theme will be Wintertime Masquerade, a sparkling world of ice and magic.” A conspiratorial glint sparks in her brown eyes. “Perhaps this is the night you’ll meet your fairytale prince or princess. Thank you for your attention, and have fun!”
The hologram bursts into a shimmer of white sparkles, which transform into snowflakes. Inna reappears to the side, this time at full length. Her white gown glitters as if someone stitched the stars together and draped them over her undulating figure. A celesta chimes an enchanted introduction of broken chords. When she sings out in French, her voice tumbles through the air like emeralds spilling from a treasure chest. I can only imagine how magnificent she must sound in person, surrounded by the resonance of a concert hall.
An icy palace fades in beside her, its dazzling blue parapets sparkling under a holographic moon. The silhouette of a princess in a long gown appears. She looks around wistfully as Inna’s voice rolls through the air. A rush of symphonic instruments rises, and the silhouette of a prince dashes onto the scene. The two lock gazes, then dance to Inna’s haunting melody.
After a minute, the scene dissolves. I keep staring at the place the silhouetted prince and princess stood, imagining myself in the princess’ place. Whose would be the face behind the shadowy prince? Whose do I dare imagine?
I glance at Milo. If I asked, would he go with me? Not as an actual date, of course, but just so neither of us would have to go alone?
Then, I realize where Milo’s eyes are fixed. A familiar golden bun gleams under the lights—it’s Sabina, laughing with one of her fellow ballerinas.
Right, he has someone to be in love with. It’s only me who needs a friendly date, and it wouldn’t be fair to hold him back. I grab his arm and stand, pulling him up. “Ask her.” I nod at Sabina.
Milo shakes his head. “I don’t know…”
“Ask her. You’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Except my pride.” He inhales. “But you’re right—I have to try.” He raises his arm and walks toward the ballerinas. “Sabina!”
Sabina straightens. “Yes?”
Milo stops in front of her, then hesitates. “It would be… it would be an honor if you would accompany me to the Wintertime Masquerade.” He takes her hand in his, raises it to his lips, and gives it a gentle kiss.
Sabina narrows her eyes as she considers Milo’s proposal. After a moment, she lifts her mouth into a small smile. “I accept.”
“Really?” Milo’s entire demeanor brightens.
I beam, but sorrow weighs down heavily upon my heart. While Milo’s dream has come true, mine remains as impossible as ever. I lean back against the banister, annoyed at myself for being so selfish. I should be rooting for him. But misery loves company, as they say. And now, I really am alone.
In the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Brent standing at the top of the staircase with his arm around Kiki. Not far behind them, Nikolai pulls Benjamin toward him in a close embrace. I shift my gaze, and it immediately falls upon Estelle, laughing as Zuriel plants a kiss on her cheek. Even that schemer has someone who loves her. Everywhere I look, I see the light of young love falling upon happy pairs, leaving me in the shadows.
A pang runs through me, and I make my way toward the door, weaving my way through the crowd. There are hundreds of eligible young men here. Surely, one of them can take the place of the noble silhouette.
As I try to picture whose face might lie behind the shadow, only one comes to mind. One who haunted me for days when I thought him a hallucination and continued haunting me after I knew him to be real. Those azure eyes, which carry more mystery and depth than the most skillful of composers could portray. Otherworldly, yet present. Unreachable, yet magnetic.
Dámiul: my alien prince.
I almost laugh. The riptide is powerful indeed. Part of me wants to stop swimming away, even though that would mean drowning. But this is ludicrous. I barely know him. The laws of his people won’t let me know him. And he’s so far from me his home star isn’t even visible in the night sky. Impossibility upon impossibility upon impossibility.
It’s really just me, then. Me and my absurd, stupid, and utterly hopeless obsession with love.
CHAPTER 13
THE MOURNFUL NOTES OF “BUTTERFLY’S Lament” flow through me. Even if I’ll never perform it before an audience, I can still play it for myself. Here, in my room, where no one can judge me. I close my eyes and imagine I’m on stage in place of Estelle.
I try not to resent her, especially after seeing how her eyes filled with tears of happiness when she learned she’d won the solo. “This is it,” she said. “Every patron on Adrye will want to hire me.”
I wish I could be happy for her. She’s a talented musician, and she deserves the spotlight. Also, with a family depending on her, she needs a job more than I do. But did she have to sabotage me?
A presence sweeps into my room. Knowing it’s Dámiul, I smile but keep playing with my eyes shut. I let the music possess my arms, as the madness possessed the butterfly. She leaps up in a final burst of energy before falling into silence.
I open my eyes. Dámiul stands before me with an apologetic smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No, I’m done for the night.” I go to my case and kneel beside it. Maybe I should play the Lament one more time. Or maybe run through a different piece, a new one Dámiul hasn’t heard before—wait. I’ve already practiced for more than two hours, and I’m too tired to keep going. I look over my shoulder. “Do you really want me to play for you? Or was that another exercise?”
Dámiul kneels beside me. “You’re getting good at this.”
“It’s not hard when you pester me about it every single day.” I place my viola in the case, internally groaning at having to spend the next hour or so concentrating on my thoughts. I’m exhausted, and as much as I like Dámiul’s company, I’m getting tired of his incessant instruction. “Is there a test I can take to pass this mind training?”
“Why?”
“It’s just that we’ve been at it for two weeks, and it’s all we ever do when you visit.” I also find it unfair that I’m always answering his questions about my life while he remains vague about his.
“It’s something you have to keep working at.” Dámiul must sense my agitation, because his brow furrows. “Is something else troubling you?”
I should just say it. He may be psychic, but that doesn’t mean he should have to read my mind when I can speak for myself. “Dámiul, I really appreciate that you’re trying to help me, but after all this time, I still don’t know anything about you. And I don’t think that’s fair.”
“I told you, I can’t say anything about where my government’s sending me.”
Irritated, I stand. “You never talk about anything else either. You’re from a place that’s so different from everything I know, and… I just want a glimpse.”
Dámiul gets up slowly, eyes lowered in thought. After a few seconds, he brings his gaze back to me. “What do you want to know?”
Glancing at his black, uniform-like outfit, I chance a question that’s been on my mind. “You said you’re a student… Are you a military cadet?”
“No, of course not.” He tilts his head, as if puzzled that I’d think that.
“Oh. I just thought, since you always wear the same thing, that it’s some kind of uniform.”
“It is a uniform, but not military.” Anger flickers through his eyes. The darkness behind their luminosity makes them all the more mesmerizing. “Conformity is valued on Adrye, and they’re not forgiving toward those who think differently.”
I look at Dámiul in a new light. Because of his authoritative presence, I always assumed he was a leader among his kind, perhaps training to be an army officer. Now, I get the feeling that he might be an outcast. “That must be frustrating.”
“Change will come.” His expression hardens. “Whether they like it or not, things won’t stay the way they are. Earth’s had more influence over Adrye than many of the Adryil would like to admit.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. For example…” He trails off and looks around my room. His gaze falls on my monitor, which I left on a display of the Wintertime Masquerade invitation—a static version with Inna’s words printed beside her beaming portrait. He nods at it. “Ballroom events have become popular among the Adryil elite. It’s the simplest way for us to take part in the Arts without having the skill and dedication of the Ka’risil.”
Though I knew about the balls on Adrye, the mention makes me smile. I can’t help thinking about how dashing Dámiul would look in a ballroom, with his effortless charm. “Have you been to any?”
“I’m afraid not.”
A thought occurs to me. “Do you want to come to this one? I can carry the Zexa device in my bag.” As soon as I speak the words, a mixture of nervousness and embarrassment twists my stomach. Yet, I don’t regret asking. It’s a harmless question. Bringing him to the Wintertime Masquerade is just another way of showing him Papilio.
Dámiul gives me a skeptical look. “I think your peers would notice a hologram among them.”
That’s not a no. My heart insists that I pursue the notion, crazy as it is. “We wouldn’t have to stay on the main floor with everyone else. The Grand Hall is huge—there are always empty rooms, and you can hear the music from every part of the building.”
“Won’t the young man escorting you mind that you’d be running off?”
I shake my head. “I’m just going with some of the other girls.”
Confusion crosses his expression, and I can only guess that he didn’t realize people could go to balls alone. He lifts his mouth into his rakish half-smile. “In that case, I’d be a fool to pass up such an invitation.”
A grin spreads across my face, and I break eye contact. Him showing up in holographic form resembles a remote tour more than a date of any kind, but I can’t help thinking: I won’t be going alone after all. As long as I know not to expect anything, there’s no harm in daydreaming just a little, is there?
Looking for another topic to talk about before
I say something embarrassing, I ask, “Can you tell me more about your world?”
His face brightens. “I can do better than tell you. Let me show you.”
Wondering what he means by that, I wait for him to continue. He closes his eyes and knits his eyebrows in concentration.
The holographic image of a globe appears. Blue sea surrounds grand continents, similar to the pictures of Earth I’ve seen. But the shapes are different from the landmasses I’m accustomed to. And smaller—there’s much more water on this world. Most of the planet twinkles with city lights, but some areas shine lush with greenery.
I recognize the image of Adrye. I suppose if I really wanted to learn about it, the library holds a decent amount of information. But I’d rather hear about it from him.
Dámiul gestures at the planet. “It looks a lot like Earth from here, doesn’t it? The atmosphere, gravity, and day lengths are nearly identical to your world’s.”
I regard the globe, which slowly rotates on a slightly tilted axis. “What about the landscape? I’ve seen a few images, but not many.”
“Here’s one that’s probably not in your library.” He closes his eyes again, and a new hologram appears in its place, occupying the entire space from floor to ceiling. I gasp at the sight. White trunks of magnificent trees stretch from the grassy ground to the cloud-filled sky. But the grass isn’t green—it’s blue and purple. Red leaves dance on a gentle breeze, crowding the branches so tightly, it’s impossible to tell where one tree ends and another begins.
“How tall are they?” I ask.
Dámiul tilts his head, considering, then says, “If you and I were part of this image, we would be as tall as your thumb.”
I stare in awe. “What place is this?”
“Rovann, an island near the equator.” He closes his eyes again, and the image changes to one of a churning ocean. A wide, disc-shaped building with marigold walls stands on a sturdy column in the middle, surrounded by several smaller versions of the same design. “More of Adrye is covered in water than on Earth, so my kind learned to build in the sea. Those buildings are flat because their roofs serve as landing pads for flying transports. Much of the city lies underwater.”
